


Some Lovely Glorious Nothing

by jolybird



Series: Some Lovely Glorious Nothing [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Car Accidents, Character Death, Coma, Custody Battle, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6083133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some lives explode and light up the sky with fanfare; they're written in ink and blood; rewritten; adapted; carved into memory. </p>
<p>Other lives burn slow and steady; they glow like embers beneath the flames; they warm the air. They don't leave scorch marks on history. </p>
<p>Some lives are extinguished too quickly, their embers are covered by ashes and soot. </p>
<p>But sometimes, just sometimes, those ashes are blown away and they get the chance to burn again. </p>
<p>;;</p>
<p>A Reincarnation AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Lovely Glorious Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Two months, one surgery and about ten rewrites later and here it is!! Chapter one!! 
> 
> I went ahead and tagged most of the major unpleasant things as well as the relationships that play the biggest role in the story (past life or future ;) ) just so everyone knows right off the bat what this fic's about. As a result you get a preview of all the shit that's going to go down and it's really not as dark as it makes it sound, I promise (terminal illness for example--it's minor character(s)). 
> 
> Characters (& ships/other tags) will be added as they appear. 
> 
> Fic title comes a poem (I swear it's a Hugo poem but I can't find it. I did find it in John Donne's Air and Angels so it's possible I'm misremembering where I read it. whoops. ) and the chapter title is a headline from The Onion. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: panic attack & implied child abuse (like, super minor).

Cities don’t stop. They dim their lights; they grieve; but even when the streets choke with silence there is always someone hurrying down one with a plan. 

In 358, a twenty five year old emperor falls in love. He is summed to lead legions in the Middle East but he refuses. The air is warm and gentle, the vineyards bloom and fill his goblet with wine, his bowl with figs. Glory calls but he ignores it for his beloved Lutetia. 

Cities scream with mothers as boxes are buried; carried away to family homes nestled in slow, sun-lit memories. Men cry on the cobblestones as death, black and cold, strips them of their light; their stomachs aching with need,want, and longing. 

In May 1871 a city burns. Again, and not for the last time. 

Flames roar as curses are laid; children laugh and warm their hands, red and shaking from the snow. 

Fire is thrust into the face of the commanding officer of the Royalist 14th Battalion; a shot rings out. A torch drops to the ground. Men mistake the shot from their own as one against them. A hundred bodies drop to the street. Their hollow thuds are swallowed by greedy stones, hoarded with laughter and footsteps. 

Libraries smoulder. Pages of glowing embers blown up into the sky, fall as ash into the river. Once clear now murky. 

Bomb sirens chase school boys from the street. 

Cities see second chances. Headlines: Let Us Kill No More.  Homes torn down to build more homes, jazz clubs, wider streets, cafes. Words carved into walls, screaming through the years until time wears them away. 

Kings, Queens, butches, fill their nights with poorly concealed affairs. Power is pulled from seduction. 

Cities miss things: quiet moments of courage that don’t make the evening news. Hands holding tight atop overturned carriages and wine-stained table tops. 

“Should I? It’s so expensive.” 

“Treat yourself, you deserve it.” 

There’s no explanation, some things just happen. Tragedies and miracles. A fifteen year old girl halts the evacuation of a city. A king dies. All kings die. She says yes. She says no. 

Cities are built brick by brick, breath by breath, through fires and wolves. 

Paint is dropped on the road and laughter attracts glares. Wheels crash though the paint. It splatters, paints the crossway, the roads with yellow intersecting lines. 

A comet passes through the sky: an omen. But omens don’t last forever, they cannot reach all things. 

People make up cities in great swarms and solitary existences. They are oxygen and blood. 

Every textbook, trade fiction, diary dropped to the street. Every letter, note, card pushed through a mail slot, a crack in the door, a window. Every click of a heel, every scuff of a boot. Every lock on the bridge. 

Every story matters.  

 

* * *

 

The apartment was dark except for the glow of a laptop screen and an impossibly old lamp. The lamp sat on a paint splattered side table next to the couch which was ripped and patched and sewn up until it resembled a quilt more than an actual functioning couch. A woman sat in front of the computer, back straight, glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Medical texts took up the cushion next to her, the one closest to the lamp, which flickered slightly every couple of minutes. A deep laugh came from the room behind her and she flipped the page of her book, unperturbed. She frowned, glanced to her computer screen and then back to the textbook. She didn’t even so much as flinch when the sound of furniture scraping against the floor echoed throughout the apartment, followed sharply by laughter.

She stayed focused on her paper until a loud, breathy moan made her start and drew her attention away. “Why the fuck am I suddenly in the middle if a porno?” she swore to herself and started clicking around the screen furiously. Her eyebrows knotted themselves and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “I am not sitting through this any longer.” She muttered darkly as more moaning sounded from the other room. She shut her laptop and shoved it into the bag in one fluid motion, followed quickly by her textbooks and papers. Throwing the bag over her shoulder she hurried to the doorway where she grabbed her keys from the bowl, slipped into sandals, and swept from the house, pausing only to lock the door behind her. Her bag bounced against her thighs as she headed down the stairs and stopped when she came to the floor below her where her neighbor was watering her plants. 

The woman looked up and smiled kindly at her, “Zenaide, darling. Where are you off to in such a rush?”

“I’ve got to find someplace else to study.” She sighed.

The elderly woman glanced up to the ceiling, “The boys won’t keep their hands off each other?”

Zenaide Joly made a show of sighing and nodding her head before giggling.

“You can study here in exchange for help with supper. Have you looked outside? It’s pouring. I’d hate to see you have to walk in it.”

“Is it really? I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything until after midnight.”

“Weatherman was wrong, but that’s nothing new. Come on in, honey. I was thinking about a vegetable lasagna. You can take the leftover up to your boys.”

“I think we should let them fend for themselves. They’re rubbing in the fact they’re not swamped with coursework.” Joly said as she followed her into her apartment. She loved Madame Martin’s apartment, the woman owned the bakery below them and so her apartment always smelled like bread and pastries. When Joly moved in above her last year, it had taken Madame Martin approximately six days to hone in on the fact she was a baker as well and nine days to have her working part time in the bakery.  

“Is it really that bad?”

“I just have a lot of exams coming up, it’s my fault for going for summer courses.” The woman opened her door and she smiled, “Thank you Madame Martin.”

The other woman went into her apartment like she was on a mission, “Someone was handing out flyers for an activist group down by the library the other day. I took one because it reminded me of you. Where did I put it…?”

Joly put her bag on the couch as the other woman dug through her mail for a moment, looking for the flyer. She gave a small victory cry and Joly walked over to her, taking the flyer. It was altogether a little plain and boring but it mentioned a charity concert in a couple of weeks and she was always looking for a distraction from class.

“The young man who gave it to me was very lovely. He’s getting a doctorate in psychology, very cute too. Sandy blond hair and glasses, very fit. I think I might have seen a slip of some tattoos on his wrists.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, “Are you trying to sell the group or him?”

The woman shrugged and looked at her conspiringly, “Who says both can’t go hand in hand? Speaking of hand, can you tell me all the bones in your hand?”

She smiled and lifted her hands to start pointing them out as the other woman started pulling vegetables out of her fridge,  “Distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx…”

 

* * *

 

Cosette giggled, grabbing onto the metal pole and swinging slightly around it. “Whoops,” she laughed again, pushing her blonde hair from her eyes. The train car was mostly empty given that it was half eleven in the evening so her laugheter was sharp and loud in the compartment.  


“You’re drunk.” 

Cosette tugged her dress down to make sure it wasn't riding up and then pointed to her friend, “You’re not helping. Someone tell the driver I’m going to need him to take the turn slowly.” 

Charlotte, a blonde girl with her hair piled up in a messy bun atop her head, mimicked calling on a phone, “Hello, yes, Cosette would like the underground to run a bit slower because she can’t hold her tequila.”

“I can hold tequila fine, it’s when you add whisky into it that--” Cosette stopped speaking abruptly and narrowed her eyes in the direction where their friend was sitting a little ways away from them, texting on her phone. Hannah had declared that they were too distracting and she had to focus on texting her boyfriend and so she sat across the gap from them. 

However now three boys surrounded her and she was scowling something fierce. “No I do  _ not _ want to continue the party at your flat.”

Cosette puffed up in outrage, pushed herself away from the pole and took determined, shaking steps towards them. Hannah got up, shouldering one of the boys out of the way. She caught Cosette who turned around in her arms to glare at them. 

The most juvinile looking one just raised his eyebrows appreciatively, “Sweet. Lesbians. Can we watch?”

Cosette didn’t think. She just reacted. 

The next morning Cosette learned she had sprained her ring finger but the sight of the boy sprawled out on the dirty floor of the underground, the pure fear in the eyes of the other two boys, and her friends around her in wildly delighted shock, was totally worth it. 

 

* * *

 

 

“So how’s Paris? You busy bringing honor to the Enjolras family name?”

The man opened his mouth to speak but then frowned as he realized what his brother was referencing, “I still can’t believe you let me cut my hair with a kitchen knife.” He said quietly into his phone as he made his way down the metro steps. 

“I knew when to pick and choose my battles. I stopped you from grabbing Charles and running away, didn’t I?”

“I couldn’t have  _ rode _ —“ He protested and ignored the weird look the woman next to him was giving him. He moved his phone to the other ear and turned away from her.

“No you were tiny when you were a kid and that Great Dane was huge. You could have rode him down the street if you wanted. Not much farther than that, mind you, but you could have made it to the corner where you would have thrown the biggest fit because you couldn’t save China when you couldn’t even make it across the street.”

He laughed as the train arrived, the wind gently ruffling his hair. Stepping into the train and leaning against the wall next to the door, he fixed his messenger bag so that it was in front of him and out of the way of the closing doors. “We got three hundred signatures yesterday.”

“Only seven hundred more until the end of the month, right?” he responded, sounding pleasantly surprised. 

“Yeah. We think if we hit up the student bars we could be able to make it this week.”

“As long as you stick to getting signatures, smile, and don’t go off on any tangents you should.”

He scowled at the back of the man in front of him’s head. “That was unnecessary.”

“What?” his brother asked, sounding amused. 

“I won’t exploit my looks for—“

“You exploit your looks all the time. Need I remind you that time in middle school when you got out of suspension with puppy eyes or when you and—“

“Yeah okay, you made your point.”

“Have you talked to Maman and Pére recently?” The doors opened to his stop and his brother made a noise, “Are you really riding the Metro home? You work like a stop away from the apartment.”

“I’m late for a coffee date.”

“Real date or best friends date?”

“What do you think?” he sighed.  


His brother laughed, free and easy and it was so different from when they were kids. “But you haven’t heard anything from Pére?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to either of them all week.”

“He’s so stubborn—“

“I’ll go home and check through his office while he’s at work.”

There was a huff on the other side of the line, “I wish he’d tell us. We can help. We’re not kids anymore.”

“I’m serious about going through his office. I’m already figuring out what day I can leave work early.”

“If you find anything…”

“I’ll call you immediately. I promise.”

“I’ll see you in three weeks, yeah?”

“Yeah. Have fun. Make sure to check out Saint Mark’s Basilica.” Hanging up the phone to his brother assuring him he had already done so, he hurried to his apartment where one of his roommates was waiting with a pointed frown.

“You’re late.” He said, shutting his computer and getting up from the table. 

“I know. Sorry.”

“She’s already texted me seven times about how she’s worried something terrible’s happened to us.” He informed him sharply, with a small smile on his face. He squinted at the table and then the kitchen for his glasses. 

Rolling his eyes, the blond pointed to the top of his head. “Let me change and we’ll be right there.”

His roommate put his glasses on and then followed him upstairs to his bedroom, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. I was just thinking about how Pére is keeping something from me.”

“He probably doesn't know anything for certain.”

“No. You know how our parents are--remember when Mémé was in the hospital and they didn’t even tell us? We wouldn’t have known if Grand-papa  hadn’t told us when I called him. We might not have gotten a chance to say goodbye all because they didn’t want us to worry.” He sighed, pulling his work pants off and changing into a pair of jeans in an impressively singular movement. 

“I'll call Maman later.”

He looked up, ready to argue that he didn't need him to call his mother but then realized that he called called her Maman. He bit back a smile. his family had all but adopted him when they were kids but sometimes he was so stubborn about it. 

He was the reason he went by his surname (well, that and the fact his first name was proof his parents wanted him to suffer a bit in life). His roommate’s parents had all but abandoned their youngest son so, in a fit of anger, he decided he wanted everyone to refer to him by his last name: Combeferre. Proof he was his parents child. 

He immediately starting going by his last name as well, if only so Combeferre wouldn't stand out so much. It was one thing to stand up to your parents but it was another for the whole school to know about it. 

Now here they were nearly a decade later and the surnames stuck. 

Enjolras and Combeferre: still totally inseparable. 

Enjolras finished changing and led Combeferre out of the apartment towards the coffee shop where their third roommate impatiently awaited them. She was, arguably, the reason they were still so close. Every time Enjolras and Combeferre fought she was right there in the center to force them to stop being idiots.  


“Are you getting excited for the concert?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras sighed, “I'm ready for everyone to stop fucking us around. How many times can they change parking regulations?”

“Don't. You know they’ll be changing it up until everyone leaves.”

“They better not. Everyone’s worked too hard for this. I’ve spent too many days at the police station making sure everything is filed correctly and we have the proper security and permits.”

“You weren't even in charge of that.” Combeferre laughed, tugging him along as they crossed the street in front of a car that was going just a bit too fast.  


“I'm the most experienced, of course I'm going to go with them.”

Combeferre shook his head and Enjolras’ phone went off. He saw the string of emojis and frowned, looking up. They were thirty feet from the cafe and  _ now _ she was going to text him?

Combeferre led the way into the coffee shop, Enjolras trailing behind him, most of his attention diverted to his phone, the text had alerted him to the fact he had a new snapchat from Anjelica who still refused to ask questions like a normal human being. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Enjolras and Combeferre back from war.”

Combeferre flinched, obviously not expecting her to be waiting for them right by the door and sighed, “Courfeyrac.”

“You can’t Courfeyrac me—you’re late.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at the both of them. The effect was slightly marred by the fact the sunglasses she wore on the top of her head caused her hair to stick up in all directions. Combeferre plucked the heart shaped sunglasses off her head, fixed her hair and set them back on. 

“I don’t know why you’re so convinced a time-traveling soldier has it out for me. Do I look like a problem that transcends time and space?” Enjolras asked but he didn’t slow down as he made his way to the counter.

“Honestly, yes.” Courfeyrac called, shot Combeferre a smile, and then made her way back to her table.

Combeferre caught up with him a moment later, “Courfeyrac thinks you’re an interdimensional problem?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and ignored him, “I still have a gift card from my birthday, what do you want?”

“I bought that for you.”

“So a green tea frappuccino?” Enjolras ignored his protest and stepped up to the counter to order before the other register opened up and Combeferre beat him to it. 

“Thank you.” Combeferre sighed as they went to wait for their drinks. 

“No problem, you paid for it.” 

Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose and then both his and Enjolras’ phones went off. He glanced to the screen to see that Courfeyrac had created a new facebook event entitled  _ July 4th!! Let’s blow something up!!  _  that was apparently taking place at their apartment that night. Before either of them could do anything about it she posted in the event:  _ Freedom for America! Freedom for France! _

Enjolras clicked to confirm he wasn’t going,  “She’s going to get wasted, try to rap and light something on fire. Despite what she thinks, she doesn't know the lyrics.” 

In the corner of his eye, he saw Courfeyrac recoil from her phone, offended, and then their drinks were done. Enjolras pointedly ignored her glares as they walked to the table and took their seats. 

Courfeyrac shook her head in over-exaggerated disbelief, “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” 

“You can have a sip of my iced coffee if you want.” 

“No thank you. I don’t share drinks with traitors.” 

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to most vehemently disagree with you.” The voice rang sharp over the din of the coffee shop and all at once conversation came to a halt.

Enjolras paused, at first thinking the voice had been part of their conversation but then he looked up to see someone staring down some teenagers in front of the register. They were dressed in a lilac jean vest with a werewolf painted on the back and a floral and spiked headband pushing the hair out of their face, the rest of which was in a fishtail braid (don’t ask Enjolras about fishtail braids: once he tried to fix Courfeyrac’s youngest sister's braid and it had turned into an Incident). The cashier had a faint blush on her face and the teenage boys stood with fading smiles.

They continued to speak but it was in a low voice that he couldn’t make out as people around them started speaking again. Given the way the boys’ eyes widened and a smile appeared on the cashier’s face, they were obviously telling the boys off. 

One of the boys made a show at bravado and stepped forwards but they didn’t back away. If anything they only narrowed their eyes in warning. “Yeah well. You’re a freak just like him!” The boy snarled. 

Their eyes widened in mock-surprise and looked around the cafe dramatically, Enjolras missed whatever they said in response but the boy’s cheeks flushed red and both of them turned and stormed out of the coffee shop.  The cashier laughed, one hand over her mouth to try to stifle it. 

Courfeyrac still hadn’t looked away from the counter, from the person who was now blushing as they handed over their money. Her lips were parted slightly and she had stopped drumming on the table. “Wow. Look at that badass.” She breathed in a whisper. Combeferre sighed at the tone of her voice—they both knew very well what it meant—but didn’t look up from his phone.

“Please don’t fall in love and become assassins or serial killers or whatever it is this week.”

At  _ become assassins _ Enjolras’ head snapped up from his phone to look at Courfeyrac who ignored him in favor of continuing to watch the counter. “No please do.” Enjolras’ voice was earnest. “I have about six people who I’d like to put a hit on.”

“Enjolras...” Combeferre sighed but he didn't look up either as he flipped through the documents on his phone until he found the one he was looking for and sent it off to Michelle (he couldn’t remember who,  _ exactly _ , Michelle was but her name was in his phone and she was asking for details about the charity concert coming up so she was probably important). 

Courfeyrac stood suddenly, both of her hands flat on the table, “Yo, I’ve got to get their number.” She announced before picking up her drink--which was hot even in July--and walking away.

Enjolras looked back to his phone, “No one even says yo. Where did she pick that up?”

Combeferre didn’t answer and the two spent the next couple of minutes working in relative silence. Every once in awhile Enjolras would make a quiet noise of disapproval and start typing on his phone so hard Combeferre could hear him hitting it. Enjolras subscribed to the school of thought that the harder he typed, the better his message would get across. As if you could send determination through the WiFi.

Both looked up as Courfeyrac swept back into her seat, a smile on her lips, as close to dreamy as she got. Combeferre glanced to Enjolras before he asked, “Are you going to invite them to the Abilene this weekend?”

The smile on her lips slipped away as she got very, very still. “Oh shit.” The words fell from her lips as her eyes got wider and she shot to her feet, bumping into the table and causing her friends to grab their drinks to prevent them from spilling. “I forgot to get their number. Oh fuck no. Come back!”

Enjolras glanced behind him out the window. The newest victim of his friend’s affections was walking away down the sidewalk, the werewolf on their vest was swallowed up by the crowd as he watched. He chucked under his breath as Courfeyrac wailed, “Fuck.” and sunk back into her seat. Both the men across from her reached out to steady their drinks again.

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll see them again.” Combeferre turned his attention back to his phone after scratching the tip of his nose. She just sighed forlornly and wrapped her hands around her mug.

“Destiny is such bullshit. It’s probably my destiny to fail as well. I’m going to be alone and sad and bearded wandering the streets  _ forever _ .”

Enjolras laughed and Courfeyrac’s lips twisted in the ghost of a smile. Combeferre, however, rolled his eyes. “Alone and sad is something you’ll never be.”

“Yeah. And you’re not  _ Merlin  _ so I think you’ll be fine.” Enjolras added, leaning forward with his eyes on his phone, he had just remembered the messages he had received during work. He slid the phone over towards Combeferre so he could see it and when he realized what it was, he took the phone to read. It was a series of texts from Enjolras’ brother and according to the typos, he was a little more than drunk. 

“‘ferre--” Courfeyrac interrupted, pulling Enjolras’ phone away. “Devon wants to know if you wanna go get drinks.”

Seeing as the phone was already in Courfeyrac’s hands, Devon was probably already waiting for him. “Where is he?”

“I haven’t  _ actually _ agreed yet. Although, he  _ is  _ cute and can be my in at the zoo but if you don’t want to go for drinks then I’m not going to force you.” 

Combeferre shook his head and took the phone from her, “I might as well see what happens.” 

Courfeyrac relinquished the phone and then looked around the room, giving her best impression of Donald Trump being caught in a lie, “Does everyone see what just happened here? I utterly failed at getting a date and then Combeferre here just-- _ might as well see what happens _ .” 

“It’s the tattoos.” Enjolras said without looking up. 

“Guess where we’re going tonight then.” Courfeyrac responded, taking a sip of Enjolras’ iced coffee. 

 

* * *

 

 

Wednesday night found Joly heading to the second floor of the d’Armont, a cafe that overlooked the Seine. She was alone despite her best efforts but she wasn't going to let it stop her from checking out the social justice club Madame Martin had found. The second floor consisted of a single room filled with mismatched tables and chairs and a wall of windows that looked out onto the river and streetlights below. 

There were several people here already, including a tall man by the doorway who looked like he knew what was going on. 

“Hey. Is this--” Joly began but a commotion by the windows cut her off. 

“First order of business.” A woman said, standing on a chair by the windows. People were slowing trickling in in twos and threes behind Joly, but after she stepped out of their way, she paid them no mind. “Combeferre went on yet  _ another _ date while I was home alone wasting away in misery.” 

The man next to Joly rolled her eyes and several people turned towards him so Joly assumed the man must be Combeferre. He muttered something under his breath and flipped her off. Scattered laughter sounded throughout the room. “Get off that chair before you fall.” he shouted before turning back to Joly, “Sorry--what was that?”

“Is this l’ABC?” 

“Are you here about the concert?”

“No, the group but the concert looks cool too.”

Combeferre suddenly looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, this--” he gestured to the room with his thumb, “is l’ABC. Currently we’re ninety nine percent a question and answer session for the concert coming up, most of these people aren’t members. But, come on, you can sit with us if you want.” 

“Cool--thanks.” Joly reached into her purse to grab her phone, as soon as she had a minute she was going to text her roommate about how she immediately got invited to sit with the cool kids. Or the obnoxious kids. Or whatever. 

Combeferre led her over to where the woman was still standing on the chair and fielding questions that were half ridiculous, half serious. The others at the table all looked up when they approached. 

“Guys this is--” Combeferre trailed off and then look to her guiltily, “Sorry I didn’t ask your name.”

“Joly. Hi, it's nice to meet you all.”

A dark skinned man leaned across the table to offer her his hand, “Romain. If Combeferre’s captured you, it must mean you’re not interested in just the concert.”

Joly shrugged, “My neighbor saw your flyer and passed it on to me. Seemed like my kind of thing, so here I am.” 

“That’s excellent.” The skinny woman to his left wearing a waitress uniform and thick black glasses, said, smiling. “I'm Paul, this is Courfeyrac,” she gestured to the woman still holding court from atop the chair. She didn’t notice. The others introduced themselves as she and Combeferre sat down, Enjolras, a man wearing red and black plaid and a beanie, Max, who looked exhausted and kept fiddling with the binder in front of him, and Marie, who immediately offered Joly a cookie from a box she had gotten from the bakery where she worked (Marie was her favorite so far). 

Eventually Courfeyrac climbed down from her seat and the meeting more or less officially started. Combeferre gave everyone a run through of who they were and what their plans for the next couple months were. Besides the concert, their plans consisted mainly of book and food drives, although Courfeyrac alluded to trying to do something with the zoo but Paul cut her off to open the floor to everyone. 

The following half hour was a volley of questions and answers, inside jokes and sarcasm that Joly could only barely keep track of.  The concert was raising funds for a charity focused on ending childhood hunger worldwide which led to a small tangent about how they should be raising money to feed children in Paris. Enjolras had shut it down with a sharp  _ we already discussed this and voted for this charity _ that everyone in the room seemed to take as law and the subject was hastily changed. Everyone seemed so passionate about what they were doing, even if it was just finding out what time they had to arrive for sound check.  


She loved it. 

Throughout the meeting she had sat silently next to Marie and Combeferre who was sitting at the head of their table (not for any symbolic reason but just so he could stretch his legs) so when the meeting ended and Courfeyrac gave a little cry of surprise when she saw her stand up, it really shouldn’t have frightened her so much. 

Courfeyrac laughed and covered her mouth, “Oh my god I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize someone was sitting there.” 

Joly moved out of the way for the others to get up and grab their things with a hand on her chest “It’s not a problem. I just wasn’t expecting someone to scream at me.” 

Courfeyrac came around the table to stand next to her as the others either went to talk to someone else or left with a wave. “I haven’t seen you before?” she asked, as if she wasn’t sure herself. 

“Yeah, this is my first time. My friend was supposed to come with me but he isn’t feeling well today.”

“We have meetings every Wednesday, same place same time.”

“Cool. I’ll have to bring him next week.”

“I’m Courfeyrac.” She said, holding out her hand. 

“Joly.” she replied, shaking it. 

“Sorry again for screaming when I saw you, I promise not to do it next week.” 

“I don’t know, I have some papers due the end of next week so I very well might show up looking like the undead.” 

“I take it back then.” 

Someone from outside called her name and she glanced out the window and swore, “Sorry. I gotta run--but I’ll see you later!” 

Joly waved, picked up her purse and headed towards the door. Marie caught her on the way, “Do you want the rest of these cookies?”

Joly shrugged, “My roommate will love them, thanks. Are these bribes to get me to come back?”

“Maybe bribes to convince your roommate to come with you next time.” She admitted, “I usually bring leftovers every week.”

Joly laughed and left the cafe with half a dozen cookies. She  _ really _ liked this group, even if it was a little manic right now with the concert looming close. It was impossible to tell what it was like without all this wild organization energy but it seemed fun. It looked like they were trying to do some actual good instead of just making themselves feel like they were. But whatever, just the possibility of more free sweets was enough for her to come back. 

 

* * *

 

Marius Pontmercy squeezed the lemon into the soup, flinched, dropped the lemon onto the counter and then fished two seeds from the broth. He dumped fish and crab meat in as he reached for the sponge to clean up the kitchen counter. 

“That smells amazing honey!” his aunt called from the other room. “What is it?”

“Bouillabaisse.” Marius called back and then stirred the soup in silence. 

It wasn’t until he went back to cleaning the counter that his aunt responded, “you’re going to sweep so many women off their feet with your cooking. Where did it come from? I’m a terrible cook and your parents were even worse.” 

“Someone has to keep us from starving.” 

“Your father once tried to cook us dinner when we were kids--the nanny was asleep and we didn’t want to wake her, poor dear had school all day and then us all night. He put a potato into the microwave and we just forgot about it. The babysitter found it when she woke up. I still don’t like microwaving things for longer than five minutes.” 

“Did it explode?”

“It was an ember.” 

Marius laughed and stirred the soup again, he could remember making dinner when he was younger. Although, back then he had his parents hovering over his shoulder, waiting to taste-test. "How long did he cook it for?”

“Maybe an hour?”

“What--?” Marius gasped and his aunt laughed, which forced him to stop and take a breath because--she didn’t sound sick at all. She sounded  _ fine _ . He threw the sponge into the sink with more force than strictly necessary--it wasn’t fucking  _ fair _ \--and turned back to the pot. He found his spoon close to the flame (and therefore hot) and tasted the soup. “Dinner’s ready!” he called, ladling it into two bowls.

“And no embers?”

“No embers.” Marius picked up one of the bowls along with a napkin and chunk of bread and went into the living room where his aunt was situated on the couch in the middle of a small mound of blankets. Marius put the soup down in front of her and then reached for the remote, “I think that movie you wanted to see is on demand already.” 

“Oh good. Get your soup and watch with me.” 

“Oh--I should--” he tried to protest but his aunt would have none of it. 

“Oh, Marius, sweetheart, take two hours off from your studies. Or at the very least twenty minutes for you to eat your soup.” 

“Soup. Right.” 

Christine Pontmercy held out her hand for the remote. Marius handed it to her before he went back into the kitchen. He grabbed his bowl and then with the other hand wiped the counter down, put some spices away and pointedly shut the cabinet door, hiding the pill bottles from view. 

“It’s starting!” his aunt called and Marius hurried to curl up on the other side of the couch.  


“Oh my god, Marius. Oh my god. This is so good.” Christine said over top of the opening score, “Forget seduction, let’s get you a restaurant and get rich.”

“I’m not _that_ good.” 

“I’m not listening.” She said and they watched the movie in silence for a few moments before Marius glanced around the room, obviously looking for something, and she spoke again, “I’m using your nursing textbooks as a table.”

“Excuse me--”

“You can study when I’m done. Until then it’s just you, me, this Michelin star worthy bouillabaisse and this adorable romantic comedy.” 

Marius made a show of rolling his eyes and turned to watch the movie. He wasn’t completely sure but he thought this movie might be a fantasy romantic comedy. Well, fantasy or a lazy editing team who kept missing wires and sound equipment that he kept misidentifying as fairies or hobgoblins. 

“Why are these even out? It’s July!” His aunt said suddenly, causing Marius to flinch. She wanted to watch this silly movie and yet here she was talking through it. 

“I need to stay on top of everything for work.” 

“My nephew’s a nerd. He reads essays on old age for fun.” She took another bite, “you need to learn some arts and crafts. Everyone loves arts and crafts.”

“Madame Morisot tried to stab Henri--the cook two weeks ago. She’s no longer allowed scissors.”

“Ah, Madame Morisot, how is she these days?”

“Spirited.” 

“Maybe next time I visit you at work I’ll take her out.”

“She--”

“Ran away from her son when he took her out to dinner, yes. But she had help that time--she had two grandchildren who wanted to go to Disneyland.”

“We should go to Disneyland. You love the teacups.” 

“We’ll have to go soon. It’s only a train ride away.” 

 

* * *

## 

Enjolras pushed himself up from the couch and set his book down by the coffee table. The alarm on all three of their phones went off simultaneously which meant they were going to be late to the meeting if they didn't leave soon. None of them were good at time management in the evenings, once they were home and had their shoes off they all lost track of time. 

“Is it that late already?” Courfeyrac sighed, pushing herself off the floor and starting to stand. 

“You two aren't ready?” Combeferre walked out of his bedroom as if he hadn't just thrown his shoes on himself. 

Courfeyrac had no sooner stood up then she wavered dangerously on her feet. “Woah.” She whispered, one hand reaching out to steady herself. All the color drained from her face and before the others could do more than take a step towards her, she collapsed like a ragdoll to the ground.

Both Enjolras and Combeferre were at her side instantly, “Fuck—“ but Courfeyrac was already stirring, blinking up at the two of them in confusion.

“Holy shit.” Courfeyrac whispered, sitting up a little, “What the fuck.”

“You fainted.”

“Why?” she asked, as if it were their doing.

“I don’t know. Here—“ Gently, Enjolras helped her into a sitting position. 

“Did you hit your head?”

“Um,” she began before pausing to take stock of the situation. “No. Nothing hurts except my elbow.” 

Enjolras turned his phone light on and shone it in Courfeyrac's face. She cursed loudly and knocked it away. “Did that hurt?”

“Not anymore than usual.” She grumbled, glaring. 

Enjolras sat back and smiled guiltily as Combeferre asked her a couple more questions before turning towards him, “You better go before you’re late to the meeting.”

Silently, Enjolras climbed to his feet. Courfeyrac shrugged Combeferre off and stood up a moment later. 

“I’ll snapchat you if anything exciting happens.” Enjolras promised, with a tiny smile on his face. Combeferre got up and headed towards the kitchen. 

“Um—no I’m going to the meeting. I’m fine.” Courfeyrac immediately protested and reached under the couch for a pair of shoes.

Combeferre glared at her from over the counter, “We’re staying here and I’m making you dinner.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” She protested but she stopped digging for her shoes. Enjolras decided to take advantage of the slight distraction and slip out of the apartment. Courfeyrac pouted as Enjolras shut the door, but when Combeferre suggested crepes for dinner, he could see her eyes light up and some color return to her cheeks.

*

Enjolras smiled when he saw Joly enter the room and he motioned to the empty seats next to him. She waved and turned back to the door, reaching back and dragging a tall red-head in after her. Enjolras knew him from somewhere.  


“What time does the kitchen open?” someone asked suddenly next to him.  


“Ten in the morning or three in the afternoon.” Enjolras replied automatically, turning to the young woman next to him, “Do you have the address—I can give you the website.”

She waved him off, “No it’s okay, I have it already. I was just trying to convince Amelie to come with me and my battery died.” She nodded over her shoulder to indicate the blond woman watching them.

“I have a charger—“

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” She looked up as Joly appeared on Enjolras’ other side, still dragging the redhead. They smiled politely at each other and then the woman left to go back to her friend.

“Where are Courfeyrac and Combeferre?” Joly asked, surprising Enjolras a little: he didn’t think she’d remember their names.

“Courf isn’t feeling well; Combeferre’s home with her. Sit down.”

“What’s wrong?” Joly asked as she sat next to him, and then indicated the man next to her, “This is my friend Jehan. My roommate’s downstairs getting us drinks.”

“Nice to meet you Jehan, I’m Enjolras.”

“Likewise. Joly has been talking about how excited for the concert she is practically nonstop.” His voice was quieter than he expected.  


“It’s such a fun idea.” Joly protested, “But—Courfeyrac. How is she?”

“She fainted, she was only out for a couple of seconds and she fell on the carpet.”

“Oh no—“

“She said she hadn’t eaten at all today, so it’s really no wonder.”

“Oh that’s not good. I always make sure I have a granola bar on me because these dumbasses think it’s okay to skip meals.”

Jehan gave a half-shrug and then Jeremy called over to let Enjolras know it was six o’clock and Enjolras called the meeting to order.

A couple of minutes later, when Anjelica was talking about parking permits and noise limits, Joly’s roommate came into the room looking a little confused as to how he ended up there. He carried three bottles of beer and it took him a moment to locate Joly and Jehan. With a quick, almost guilty smile to Anjelica, he made his way through the mess of tables and came to sit in the empty chair next to Jehan. Silently, he passed out the beer and Joly leaned back in her seat as she took a sip.

When Anjelica was done, Enjolras reminded everyone that they’d send out an email with all the information they’d need and Joly’s roommate sent him an incredulous glance, as if he couldn’t believe he was in charge.

Enjolras ignored it and the way his forearms stood out with the sleeves of his dark green plaid shirt rolled up, “The book drive’s going to be pushed back a couple months still so if anyone has any other ideas for future events, let’s hear them.”

“What if you had an open mic?” There was a small burst of confusion before the room located Jehan. “You could invite some local writers and musicians to come. They could sell their work and you could pass out information.”

“I like it.” Enjolras said almost instantly, ignoring the fact he had suddenly realized why Jehan was familiar. “We don’t have anything like it in our schedule and it could be a reoccurring event, maybe once a month if it’s received well.”

“I like that people are getting something out of it so we’re almost tricking them into coming.” Amelie called from the other side of the room.   


“R has a friend who co-owns a café not too far from here—we’ll investigate hosting it there.” Joly piped up and R--her roommate--paused with his bottle halfway to his lips and raised his eyebrows, Joly patted his free hand absentmindedly, “We will. He’ll love it.” R shrugged and finished taking his sip.

The conversation took off allowing Enjolras to study Jehan. A faint blush marred his cheeks as he watched everyone discuss his idea.

“What’s the deal with selling their work? We just set up a table and have someone man it? Will we get a cut?”

“Of course we will.”

“No we won’t—it’s their work.”

“Yeah but it’s our event.”

“I don’t think we should take a cut. I think if they want to donate a portion, they can.”

R frowned and slid his bottle from one hand to the other, “Do you really think people would do that? Donate a portion of the two CDs they’d sell.” Enjolras frowned, he had been hoping Joly’s roommate was going to be as enthusiastic as she (and to a lesser extent, Jehan) was. 

“I would.”

“Anjelica, you already do that.”

“So what.” she demanded, turning on her. 

Enjolras leaned back in his seat to let the others argue as Anjelica, puffed up with indignation, launched into her average profits and how much of it she had donated to Les Amis over the past couple of months in order to prove to Kevin that they wouldn’t be counting spare change. From the corner of his eye he could see the back and forth had Joly’s full attention and that Jehan was doodling on a napkin. R still looked confused as he continued to nurse his beer, but he was looking around the room as if sizing everyone up. He hope he didn’t dismiss them all; Joly was so enthusiastic and he didn’t want her roommate to dull it.  


He tore his eyes away from R and looked back to Jehan. He hadn't really been paying close attention at the time but Jehan had definitely been the one at the coffee shop who had verbally kicked the ass of those two boys. He had the same long auburn hair, and when he spoke up, it was with the same determination. 

Courfeyrac was going to be so unbearable. Hopefully he was coming to the concert. 

After the meeting ended, Enjolras was pulled off into three different directions at once: one of the bands wanted to double check that they’d be able to park close to the building, someone else wanted to make sure it was okay to bring her daughter with her to run the information table and somebody else had a friend who worked at a small paper and needed to know if they could get them an interview with some of the performers.

By the time he was done, he was surprised to see that Joly and her friends were still there. He went over to them and her roommate, the one with the dark curly hair, immediately rounded on him, “I just have one question. Where the hell did you find that quote because it sounds pretty fake.” Enjolras was momentarily taken aback because he had only interjected a handful of times and at first didn't know what quote he had said.  


Joly laughed, “What he means is hello. This is R, he’s not always this confrontational.”

Enjolras shook his head and laughed, “No it’s alright. I volunteer at a LGBT center, that was nowhere near confrontational.”

“If he’s not stacking up against homophobic assholes then he’s losing his touch,” Jehan said, teasingly. R elbowed him with a laugh but both their smiles looked strained. 

“I’ll find it and have it for you the next time I see you.” Enjolras assured him, quickly glossing over the jab; he didn't want to assume anything.  


“You better or I won’t believe it.” R smiled crookedly and Enjolras got the creeping suspicion that he was sort of fucked.  


Joly made a sudden movement that tore Enjolras' gaze away from the other man, “Oh wait, here—this is my number. I’m not a nursing student—I’m medical research but I’m first aid certified. If you need anything, you can call me. Oh—but I’m not a replacement for an ambulance.”

“That was one time and Jehan’s fine” R automatically sighed and Joly glared at him as Jehan laughed. Enjolras chuckled.  


“I’m glad you were able to make it today and hopefully you’ll all be able to make it to the concert?”

“Of course! We’re signed up to help clean up.”

“We’re what?”

Joly elbowed R sharply to shut him up and Jehan snorted, “So yeah. We’ll see you in a couple of days and don’t forget you have my number.”

“Yeah, I should get home to her, the fact she hasn’t been texting all meeting actually scares me a little. See you guys at the concert.” He gave them a wave before pulling out his phone and heading out the door. Either Courfeyrac was feeling terrible or they had gotten into a movie or game or something and nothing good ever came of the two of them getting obsessed with something together. Enjolras was on his phone before he left the room and Courfeyrac picked up on the second ring, “Feeling better?”

“No because I owe Combeferre like three times what I currently have. How was the meeting?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “It went fine—are you feeling better?”

“’course I am, you worrywart, now hurry up and interrupt our game before I have to actually lose to him.”

 

* * *

Éponine groaned and threw herself down onto her bed and into view of the computer camera, the screen lurched as her computer nearly toppled over from the impact.

"Work was rough today I'm guessing?" Cosette asked, her voice coming out strained.

Èponine groaned with her face pressed into the sheets. She lifted her head to look at the computer screen, eyeliner slightly smudged. "Half of those people come in boasting how their great grandmother came through Ellis Island and then they turn around and say how illegal immigrants as ruining America. Literally you just said you came from immigrants yourself; shouldn't you have more compassion, shouldn't you want everyone to have, if not the same, but better futures then your great grandma did in the past."

"Not everyone has compassion." Cosette told her softly, pulling her blanket around her. 

Éponine froze for a moment on her screen but just as quickly unfroze and continued speaking, "It's weird. I'm half Montaukett and half Namibian and these people are like remember when our families came through here. I wish those were the circumstances. My father's family came over on a slave ship and my mother's family had their lands taken and given smallpox."

"You can quit, Ép, you can get a different job and you can quit."

"No I like it. I like the kids. Gav loves coming in after hours and screaming down the halls."

"He's going to get you fired."

"It makes him happy, it'll be worth it. He wasn't allowed dinner tonight because he failed a test in school." Éponine's eyes filled with tears, “I had to sneak over with some food, I had to pass it in through his window. He said ‘Zel has been crying all afternoon but he doesn't know why."

"She's turning eighteen this year. She's going to move in with you. You're doing what's best for them." Cosette reminded her.  


"Best for them would be becoming their guardian, winning custody from their parents."

"My parents can send you money--they'll pay--they can--"

"I can't ask them for more after all they did."

"You can. Please."

"We'll get through this, we always do. Plus, I’m working on it. I have the apartment, I have the job. You’ve already helped me with so much paperwork. I just know they’ll be no second chance and I have to do this right.”

“Don't forget we're here for you. Even if we're all the way across the Atlantic."

“Yeah. ‘Course. Let's just watch this movie okay?”

Cosette looked to her, her watery eyes, the sharp frown on her face. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a knock on the door about fifteen minutes into the movie and Cosette and Éponine nearly simultaneous pressed pause. Cosette giggled at the ridiculous expression on Jim Broadbent's face. Cautiously, the door opened and Cosette's face lit up. "Vincent!"

Éponine gave her a pointed look through the screen that she ignored.

Cosette's boyfriend held up a pastry box and Cosette gave a weak cheer. "I got your favorite!" he said, making his way over to her. 

"Thank you, sweetheart!" Cosette smiled, taking the proffered box and turning the laptop away, hiding the rude expression on Éponine’s face and the way her best friend still looked like she was about to cry.

Vincent delicately knelt on the bed and gave her a quick hug before pulling away. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah!"  Cosette smiled, pulling the blankets around her tighter. “Thank you for stopping and visiting!”

“Of course, but unfortunately this was just to drop you off a treat, the queue at the bakery was longer than I anticipated and now I'm almost late for work.”

“Yeah, no, of course.” Cosette assured him with a wave of her hand, “Get to work. I'll see you later.” 

“Feel better.” He smiled, proud of himself, which made Cosette smile too and then he hurried from the room. She turned her laptop back towards her. 

"He left already?" Èponines deadpanned as soon as Cosette put the earbuds back into her ears.

"He has work."

"He's very clever, I have to hand it to him, carefully calculating when to get here so that he’d have to leave almost immediately to get to work on time"

Cosette laughed, “I'm starting the movie.” She clicked play and laughed again as Éponine scrambled to press play on her computer as well. Her laugh suddenly turned to a cough and Éponine frowned. After Cosette choked for a couple seconds longer, Éponine grabbed her phone.

Five minutes later, her mother appeared in the doorway with a tray laden with a teapot and two mugs. "Éponine told me you were choking to death and I couldn't stay downstairs as my only daughter faced her doom. Also she said you were watching Cloud Atlas and you know I can't turn down a Halle Berry movie. Scooch."

"Mama, you'll catch my cold." Cosette complained between coughs.

"Nonsense." Fantine told her, unplugging her headphones and adjusting the volume. "Hello, darling!" She told Èponine when she spotted her in the corner of the screen on skype, not commenting on how her eyes were still puffy. Èponine waved back and then Fantine poured her daughter a cup of tea. Cosette held it like a relic and then sipped it quickly. She sighed and leaned back into her pillows. Her elbow hit something and she gasped.

"Oh, here! Vincent got this for me but I can't stomach the thought of sweets right now."

"I bet you twenty bucks it's not ispahan."

Cosette glared at her but when they opened the box it contained a mini swiss roll with a red fruit filling. Cosette glared at her best friend again but her mother gave a delighted cheer and took a spoon from the tray to take a bite.

"Mmmm." Fantine sighed, "strawberry rhubarb."

"It's the thought that counts." Cosette told Èponine sharply, and then shushed her response, "shut up I love this part."

 

* * *

 

“If this concert blows,  I’m going to be so upset.” Grantaire grumbled as they walked into the bar, most of the room was empty floor space with an oval bar area in the middle and a stage off to the right. The room was packed with people seeing as someone (read: Jehan who had missed his train  _ twice _ ) had made them late. Joly had all but jogged the entire time there (including when they were on the metro--they might have pre-gamed a bit). Jehan linked arms with both Grantaire and Joly and pulled them into the throng of people, which earned them several glares. 

Not thirty seconds later, a woman came crashing over towards them. Grantaire caught her and she laughed, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry, it’s the heels.” she indicated her gold sandals with an impressive four inch heel. 

“Marie!” Joly called, hugging her. 

“I have sweets in the back--I heard you guys got stuck with cleaning up? How did that happen?”

“Someone volunteered us.” Grantaire deadpanned and Marie laughed when Joly reached out and viciously swatted at him. 

“You two go find a table, I’m going to find us some drinks and maybe a cookie.” 

Marie grabbed her wrist, “Yeah--I’ll take you, come on. We better hurry before Enjolras gets to them. Don’t tell anyone but I bring them to stay on his good side.” 

Joly and Marie almost instantly disappeared into the crowd gossiping about Enjolras who Jehan could only just remember. He was the one who Grantaire had demanded sources from. Right? Maybe. Or maybe that had been--  _ Whatever _ . 

Grantaire led Jehan through the crowd. They reached the back of the bar where there were booths lined up and from the corner of his eye, Jehan noticed that the one in the corner was empty. He grabbed Grantaire’s hand and then pulled him over. The two of them flung themselves down onto the worn leather benches and scooted over so that they were both in the back of the booth with the rest of the bar laid out in front of them. 

The bar was between them and the stage but Jehan didn’t know who was up there. They sounded good, though, and every once in awhile he thought he heard a German word thrown into the song but he really couldn’t make out any of the lyrics.  

“So, wanna come back to mine after this? I’m sure I could pawn Jols off on her new social justice friends.” Grantaire asked, sounding bored. 

“Eh.” Jehan sighed, picking up a coaster and rolling it back and forth under his palm. It wasn't that he didn't want to go home with him, it was that he sounded so _bored_ about it.  


Grantaire laughed, a hollow, flat sound and then stared off towards the stage. Jehan glanced to him, swallowed thickly and then searched for Joly. He couldn’t see anything that looked like a back room so it must have been to his left, out of sight. The bar was dim with fairy lights draped around the stage despite the fact they were rendered almost obsolete by the normal stage lights. Someone had tried. 

Next to him, Grantaire was taking a picture of the l’ABC flyer and texting someone a novel. 

He looked up again, scanning the room for his friend and--oh. There she was. She was alone by the bar getting a tray of drinks. A woman all but crashed into her and--she was so familiar but Jehan couldn’t place her--Joly hugged her before turning back to the drinks. Joly waved a hand in the air, gesturing to the room at large and then the woman gasped. Joly turned to her and then the woman grabbed her face and kissed her. 

“What the  _ fuck _ is that?” Grantaire asked. His phone made a soft thud on the table as he roughly put it down. He was looking at Joly and frowning sharply. 

Joly, however, was laughing. The pair leaned back over the bar and six shots were put on Joly’s tray. The woman disappeared into the crowed and Joly bought a couple more shots. Gingerly, she turned and headed into the crowed. 

“I think she knew her.” Jehan tried, but Grantaire was glaring, his eyes locked on the woman who had just forcibly kissed his friend. He tried to follow his glare but a tray was placed in front of them and Joly suddenly blocked their view. 

“Hurry up, let’s do a shot quick before they get over here, we have a lot of catching up to do until we’re on Courfeyrac’s level.” 

“Who the hell just kissed you?” Grantaire asked immediately after dutifully downing the shot. Jehan shivered: whatever the shot was, it had tasted like a rotten creamsicle. He was glad to see the other six shots weren’t the same neon orange color. He grabbed the cider Joly had gotten him and took several lengthy sips to get the taste out of his mouth. 

“That was Courf, from the meeting, remember?”

“I don’t remember her.”

“What?” Joly tilted her head and looked at Jehan as if he were insane. Jehan shrugged, she was incredibly, frustratingly familiar but he didn’t remember her at the meeting. “Oh! Right yeah. She and Combeferre—he’s the other one with them—weren’t at the meeting. Enjolras said something about her collapsing but promised me it was just because she hadn’t eaten all day. She looks fine now. So that’s good. I ordered fries while I was in back with Marie stealing cookies.”

“Are you trying to win her heart through cheese fries?” Grantaire asked, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“It worked with you, didn’t it?”

He shrugged, “Well yeah, that and the beer.”

Jehan rolled his eyes fondly. “Are you going to try to get with everyone but the hot one with the glasses?” he asked, referencing the reason Madame Martin had recommended the group in the first place. 

Joly turned around and waved at the trio making their way over to them. 

“To be fair, they're all hot.” Grantaire took another sip of his drink and ignored Jehan’s exasperated laugh. 

Courfeyrac beamed as she reached their table,  “Hey.”

“Have you eaten? We just ordered cheese fries.”

Courfeyrac smiled in gratitude. Then she turned to Jehan as she slid into the booth next to him, “I’m Courfeyrac.”

“Jehan. Are you feeling better? Jols told us why you missed the meeting.”

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just didn’t eat enough that day.”

“Well she probably ordered a double so…” Jehan began before Grantaire cut him off. 

“Did you find that quote?”

“Of course.” Enjolras pulled his phone out of his pocket to pull the article up as he slid in next to him, followed by Combeferre who handed out the shots. Joly squeezed in next to Courfeyrac and the two laughed at the way Grantaire and Enjolras were engrossed in Enjolras’s phone and took the shots without looking up.  


Jehan felt a wave of nausea wash over him, but he just smiled, clinked his shot glass with the others and washed it down with whiskey. 

“Are you trying to fucking kill me,” Grantaire swore, glaring at Joly who just smiled innocently and winked. 

“Okay so--you two met Enjolras last week but this is Courfeyrac and Combeferre.” Joly reached for her drink and swirled the straw around. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—I’m Jehan.” he smiled to Combeferre after Grantaire refused to look away from where Enjolras was pointing at his phone. 

Courfeyrac sighed, “He’ll be like this all night if you let him.” 

Combeferre was staring at Jehan like he wasn’t sure if he knew him, which was funny because Jehan still couldn’t quite remember how he knew Courfeyrac. After a moment Combeferre gave up, “Nice to meet you.” 

“You organized this?” Jehan asked the pair of them. 

“No—just helped.” Combeferre assured him, causing Courfeyrac to roll her eyes. 

“You  _ helped  _ organize this?” He corrected himself. 

“Yeah.” he admitted and Courfeyrac and Joly both laughed. 

“That's very admirable.”

Courfeyrac made a point of frowning next to him, so Combeferre reached across the table, mindful of their drinks, to pat her hand, “Pretty much everyone pitched in for tonight.”

“Everyone except Tomas who’s just here for the brownies.”

“I made brownies for after!” Joly piped up, "I was going to put peanut butter in them but Jehan whined until I put something else.”

“Eyyyyy” Courfeyrac laughed, “am I invited for the after party.” 

“Yeah of course.” Jehan said quickly and Joly waggled her eyebrows at him. He rolled his eyes and took another sip. 

Courfeyrac smiled wider. “Hurry up with those because Anjelica’s band’s coming on soon and I wanna dance.” 

“We’ll lose our table.” Joly protested but Courfeyrac rolled her eyes and assured her they’d find another. 

Jehan focused on his drink as Combeferre, Joly and Courfeyrac made small talk and he ignored the way Grantaire and Enjolras were still leaned together. After a while Maria and some others came over and pulled them all out onto the dance floor. Jehan wasted no time in grabbing Combeferre to dance with. Grantaire frowned but he ignored him. 

The songs blended into one another as he was pulled over to the bar to do another shot and then an extra one when Grantaire let it slip that he had missed the pre-gaming. 

At one point, Courfeyrac wrapped her arms around his arm and began introducing him to people he was never going to remember in the morning. She abandoned him with Enjolras when the concert came to an official close and Enjolras just let his head sink down to the bar. 

“We all were incredibly irresponsible if we’re expected to clean this up.” 

Enjolras grumbled something incoherent and then clumsily reached out to grab Jehan’s wrist. He pushed himself up and carefully led Jehan to the front of the bar. “We just need to take the signs down and pack up our stuff. It’s not hard.” 

“But we’re wasted.” 

“It’s not rocket science.” 

Jehan spun around with his heart beating wildly; Combeferre’s arrival had terrified him. 

“If you two get the signs, I’ll put our things into the car.”  he continued with absolutely no concert for Jehan’s minor heart attack.  

“You bought a car?” he asked, a hand to his chest. 

“Yeah, Arielle’s driving us home.” 

“Who the hell is Arielle?” Jehan gasped. 

“You met her an hour ago.” Enjolras deadpanned and then they both started taking the posters down. Jehan followed Enjolras around like a shadow as they collected their things and stuffed them (and Courfeyrac who wouldn't stop talking to  _ everyone) _ into the back of Arielle’s car. 

Arielle, as it turned out, was a pretty woman in a long sleeved crop top and skater skirt.

“Are you guys coming over for the after party?” Courfeyrac asked as Combeferre got into the car with her. 

“Yeah.” Jehan found himself saying, “We’ll run home to pick the brownies up and then meet you at yours.”

“We will?” Grantaire asked with an amused tone. 

“Yeah. Why not? It’s still early.” 

“Sweet.” Courfeyrac leaned over Combeferre after he shut the door so she could talk to them through the window. “Enjolras has Joly’s number so I’ll text you the address. We’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” 

Combeferre pried her away from the window and then they were off. 

“Okay, well, looks like we’re headed home.” Joly laughed, grabbing her friends' hands and swinging them back and forth as she lead them down the street. 

Jehan’s mind was pleasantly numb and he allowed himself to be pulled into the warm Parisian night. 

 

* * *

The sun was starting to rise outside but all the lights in Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment were still on. Grantaire reclined on their couch, watching the others giggle to themselves over jokes that probably weren’t actually funny. 

It had been an adventure going to get the brownies and then slowly making their way to the others' apartment. They lived on the river which was totally not fair. There had been a couple others floating around their apartment when they had arrived but they all had the sense to not get completely wasted and they were all home by now.

Enjolras took another brownie from the pan and proceeded to stuff his face with it. Jehan glanced to the pan and then up to Enjolras, “Uhm…” he began but then trailed off. He looked around the room and bit his lip, “Enjolras, how many of those have you eaten?”

“Holy shit, who are you? My mother? I get enough shit from her.  _ Sweetheart, did you eat all the Christmas cookies again? _ Maman, just…get off my case.”

“Did—ah—anyone tell him?” Combeferre asked quietly.

“I feel like we’ve just failed him as friends.” Jehan whispered, horrified. 

“You’ll get another chance.” He assured him 

“Not if he totally kills us in the morning.”

“He loves us too much to kill us.” Combeferre whispered, “Doesn’t he?”

Enjolras pushed himself to his feet and then disappeared down the hall. 

“Um.” Jehan whispered, looking to Grantaire with wide eyes, “Where did he go?” 

“He probably just using the bathroom.” Courfeyrac assured them all with a wave of her hand. “No need to be so dramatic, Prouvairy.”

Jehan turned to her with narrowed, suspicious, eyes while Combeferre and Joly giggled. Before Jehan could question them, Enjolras returned. 

“Grantaire’s dæmon was in the shower.” Enjolras informed them all flippantly. 

“My what?” Grantaire asked, over-pronouncing the t. 

“Your dæmon. You know. Your dæmon.”

“Could you touch his dæmon, Enjolras?” Jehan asked, a wide, teasing grin on his face. 

Enjolras cheeks instantly went pink and he grabbed the bottle of wine and took a sip.

“Well,” Courfeyrac said, looking away from the still-giggling Combeferre and Joly and pointedly ignoring Enjolras, “I think we are very officially friends.”

Enjolras flung himself into the arm chair and took another sip of wine. He grimaced but made himself comfortable, “What does it matter if I could touch his dæmon or not? It wasn’t staying the same which is  _ ridiculous _ because they’re supposed to settle when you’re a kid.” He lifted the bottle and took another sip. 

“I think this may be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” Grantaire whispered, awestruck, and definitely did  _ not  _ stare at the way Enjolras’ adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Jehan asked as they watched Enjolras pout in the armchair. 

“If there’s one thing to know about Enjolras it’s that he always bounces back.”

“I’m going to bed.” Combeferre said suddenly, climbing to his feet with all the grace of a newborn gazelle. He stumbled his way out of the living room and must have eventually made it to his bedroom because a door slammed shut a few moments later, followed shortly by a muffled,  “Sorry.”  

Jehan pouted, he had been completely and utterly abandoned on the floor so Grantaire lifted his arm, inviting him to come cuddle with him on the couch. Jehan all but scrambled over. 

“I can’t believe I’m the responsible one now.” Courfeyrac pouted and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“That’s your third drink since we got here. You’re in no state to be a babysitter.”

Courfeyrac puffed up, indignant, then rested her head on Joly’s shoulder and put her mostly-empty wine glass on the floor  “You’ll take care of me in the morning when I’m the only one hung over because I’m the only one drinking.”

“One, we all got drunk at the bar, two, look at Enjolras, three, Prouvaire will.” He said quietly. 

“Prouvaire will what?” he asked, curled up half on top of him.

“Nurse her hangover.” Joly yawned. 

Jehan made himself more comfortable and his voice was muffled by the couch cushion, “Yes. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Crepes.” Courfeyrac sighed and then Joly scrunched up her face and yawned again. Courfeyrac sighed again, “Come on, Combeferre is once against the smartest. You can share my bed if you promise not to steal the covers.” 

“Yes please.” Joly sighed, rapidly falling asleep where they were sitting. Courfeyrac stood and untangled her from their blanket next. She pulled Joly to her feet and they wavered a little but the pair held each other up. Courfeyrac gathered up the blankets that she unceremoniously dumped on their pair on the couch. 

“Enjolras, you should probably stop drinking now.” She told him but didn’t turn back as she and Joly went off to her bedroom doing a three-legged shuffle. 

Enjolras lifted the wine bottle and delicately took a sip. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire asked a couple of minutes later, over top of Jehan’s head. His breaths were even and Grantaire was fairly certain he was already asleep. Way to kill the party, Combeferre. “What does l’ABC mean?”

Enjolras really dramatically threw his arms around and shrugged, “We inherited it. We’re just rolling with it. No one’s made us change it yet.”  

“Go to  _ sleep _ .” Courfeyrac called and Enjolras huffed and crossed his arms. 

“My room’s  _ upstairs _ .” he hissed to Grantaire who couldn’t keep his eyes open. Combeferre was really Hypnos in disguise and he had laid a horrible party-killing curse on them all. 

“You just gotta take it one step at a time.” He told Jehan’s shoulder. 

Enjolras was silent for a moment and Grantaire watched as the deep orange light of dawn shot into the room and caused his hair and the wine in the bottle to glow. Grantaire stared through his eyelashes. This moment was something. This moment with Enjolras and the wine glowing was something. It was something like a prophecy probably.  Enjolras squinted with the sudden beam of light in his eyes then he cursed under his breath and stomped his way over to the staircase. The apartment was silent for a moment, save for Jehan’s light snoring, and then Enjolras made his way up the stairs, sulking and cursing all the while. 

Grantaire was asleep before he reached the top. 

 

* * *

 

**_Top Ten Things to Not Do in Venice_ **

_ M. Enjolras _

 

_ When I arrived in Venice it was on an early morning train filled with mostly disinterested faces wearing uniforms. My primary focus was on the accompanying article-- _ Best Things to Do in Venice That Aren't Gondola Rides _. Over the course of my five days in this sweltering, incredible city, however, it occurred to me that maybe i should be writing a different article--this article.  _

_ The city was awash in fog as I made my way to St. Mark’s Basilica for eight A.M. mass--not because I’m devotedly religious but because this was my fourth week in Italy and I still had three to go. My job is incredible, I wouldn’t trade it for the world but I was homesick in the way you reach out for familiar experiences. In this case, I missed the early morning masses of my childhood with my parents and grandparents. My grandparents had honeymooned in Venice and both have been deceased for several years now. I couldn’t miss this opportunity to feel close to them, to experience something that had meant so much to them.  _

_ Inside this breathtaking basilica we come upon the first thing to never do in Venice (or, frankly, anywhere): don’t eat breakfast during mass. When I laid eyes on this family, I went from bittersweet remembrance to real fear that my Mémé was about to appear as an outraged spirit. This wasn’t a little snack, either,  I’m talking about a three course breakfast that was probably smuggled off their cruise ship the day before: donuts, bananas, apples, soggy pancakes complete with syrup in little packages. All this was contained in crinkly paper. Whether you believe in a higher power of if you’re just there to admire the mosaics--respect that this is a sacred space and don’t be those people.  _

_ Upon leaving the basilica, I found the city no longer awash in fog but instead awash with tourists. In a destination city such as Venice, tourists are part of the architecture. I call Paris my home, I know a thing or two about tourists. Compared to the peacefulness of mass, street upon street packed with people was a bit of a shock. Tour groups passed by in excitement. Pictures were taken left and right. Most of the restaurants were relatively quiet though, but I didn’t think much of it until that night.  _

_ As I was talking to Giulia Rossi, bartender at the bar down the street from my hotel, she casually let me in on one of Venice’s biggest problems: the vast majority of visitors come from cruise ships--where your meals are already paid for. Most people spend the day touring the city like it’s the Louvre or the MET and avoid restaurants as if they were overpriced museum cafes.  Why pay for something that’s already included in the price of your cruise? Most cruises have their own tour guides as well. Thus Venice gains little from the crowds.  _

_ This brings me to the second thing to not do in Venice--don’t just take pictures. Get to know the city. Taste it. Feel it. Live it for the few hours you have it. Budget lunch into your plans. By immersing yourself into the city, you’ll have stories instead of just pictures and footnotes. In my  _

 

Combeferre looked up sharply from his phone as he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk but Enjolras caught him and straightened him up. 

“Dumbass.” he whispered and Combeferre elbowed him playfully and put his phone into his pocket; he'd finish reading the article later.  

“She wouldn’t have gotten so angry if you hadn’t told her her degree was pretty much useless.” Grantaire said to Joly, completely oblivious to Combeferre almost biting it. 

Jehan laughed, turning a pretty shade of pink. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I spent an hour listening to Enjolras this morning!”

A gust of wind rushed past them, Jehan pulled his jacket around him tighter and Courfeyrac leaned into Grantaire. The breeze whipped her hat off her head and pulled a scream for her lungs. For a moment Grantaire was on the brink of laughter. Then Courfeyrac was on the ground, throwing her hands above her head trying to hide on the sidewalk.

Combeferre gave a small cry of concern but Grantaire beat him to her side. “Are you hurt?” he asked and she didn’t respond. Her breathing became more labored and more sporadic. “Courfeyrac” He repeated, doing his best to keep the worry from his voice. From next to Jehan who was looking around as if for an attacker, Enjolras was on the brink of panic himself. He picked her hat up from where it landed on the ground and held onto it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Roselle.” Combeferre tried from where he was pressed next to Grantaire. She glanced up and Combeferre smiled. She echoed it best she could with her breaths coming in short gasps and then glanced to Grantaire as he asked if he could touch her. She nodded and Combeferre leaned back so that she had space. Pulling her hands down gently, Grantaire offered her an encouraging smile. “Breath with me okay? Just copy me.” Her face was pale but she listened to him.

Combeferre stayed absolutely silent as Grantaire managed to calm Courfeyrac down and eventually she gave a shaky laugh,  “ _Well_.” With both Grantaire and Combeferre’s help, she got to her feet and started walking down the street. 

“Wait, are you alright?” Grantaire called as the others started after her.  


She turned around, took her hat from Enjolras, and put it back on her head, “Yeah, c’mon let’s get going.” 

“What happened?” Enjolras finally asked when they had walked a block and some color returned to his cheeks.

Courfeyrac wrapped her arm around Jehan who had moved to walk next to her and he pulled her closer in return. “I don’t know. I just, panicked I guess?”

Grantaire looked her over, his expression still wary. “You should go home and rest.”

“No way. I was promised crepes and that’s what I’m gonna do. Jehan's too hungover to make them at home so I'm marching to this cafe to get brunch."  


Rubbing her arm, Jehan shook his head at her words. “No, you should really rest. You were complaining about a headache before as well.” 

“Please.”

Jehan looked away from Courfeyrac’s wide green eyes to Enjolras who sighed like the battle was already decided. Courfeyrac turned her attention to Grantaire who snorted. “If you’re offering me free food, you don’t have to ask twice.”

“Who said anything about us buying you brunch?”

“Enjolras. We can’t make our guests pay.” Courfeyrac gasped over-dramatically.  


“They stopped being guests after they showed up at two in the morning with brownies.”

“Hey, we were invited!”

Jehan let the others walk past them as they argued over whose idea the brownies had been and followed with Courfeyrac. 

“You’re sure you feel alright? No other bereavements you’re hiding behind a brave façade?” he asked. 

She shook her head, “No don’t worry. If I start to feel funny I’ll let you know, yeah?” She forced herself to laugh, although Combeferre could see she was still shaken. Hell,  _  he _ was still shaking. First she fainted dead away and then she had a panic attack in the middle of the street. Something was going on with her and he needed to figure out what before things escalated any further. 

 

* * *

“Hey,” Hannah sighed, slipping into the seat next to Cosette at her table. “What's wrong?”

Cosette propped her head up with her hand, “I've had a headache for a week now. It's horrible.”

Hannah frowned, “have you been to the doctor?”

She waved a chip around casually, “Oh it's not bad, just annoying.”

“Still. You had that cold.”

“I think it's really just leftovers from the flu.”

“I know you don't like doctors but you have to go when you're not feeling well.”

Someone walked by too close to the back of Cosette’s chair and she got hit with a shopping bag. She blinked in surprise and shot the woman a glare; she hated eating lunch in the food court. “I know. I mean, my mother wouldn't be here without that army of nurses and surgeons but I don't know. Waiting rooms turn me into a terrified seven year old kid.” 

“If the headache doesn't go away by Monday, I'm going to go with you.”

Cosette rolled her eyes, “you don't have to go with me. I can go by myself.”

“And I could have dealt with those guys on the underground but you still stumbled in and knocked him out. It's better with a friend. We’ll go for lunch after.”

“Only if we can get French.”

“Homesick?” She teased, stealing a chip. 

“I'm not from France. At least, I don't think. I know mom was bouncing around looking for a job but…I don't think she came from France? I'm pretty sure she's always lived in London.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes, “You sometimes get a slight accent when you’re mad though.”

“Papa’s from France?” Cosette offered, stuffing two chips into her mouth at once. 

“Your father does  _ not _ have a French accent.” 

“Maybe he used to when I was little?”

Hannah shrugged, the mystery of Cosette’s sometimes-accent didn’t really have anything to do with their hypothetical plans.  _ Actually _ . “What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing.” 

“We’re going out for dinner. I’ll find someplace when I get home and I’ll pick you up at your apartment.”

“I  _ just  _ said I wasn’t feeling well.” Cosette laughed. 

“Bad enough that you don’t want to go out to dinner?”

“Well," Cosette began, eating another chip. “no, I’m up for dinner. I mean, I’m at work and not dead so...” 

“Well, if the smell of a thousand bath bombs gets too much, let me know and I won’t come pick you up. If not, wear something nice, it’s a date.” 

“You know how mad Vincent got last time you said that.” 

“Cosette, honestly, the boy gets mad over everything. Wasn’t he upset about you talking to Éponine so often? She’s your best friend, he’s going to have to learn how to deal eventually.” Hannah grabbed her purse and shopping bag as she stood, “Remember you’re not arm candy.” 

“I know I’m not arm candy.” She told her fiercely, but then lifted a finger up to signal Hannah to wait. “But speaking of candy, if you stop by the sweet shop and happen to drop some off to me on your way out, I’ll pay for desert tonight.” 

Hannah pointed at her and then pushed herself up,  “Fucking deal. Have fun at work. See you in a bit.” 

 

* * *

 

Joly had been gone a grand total of five minutes tops but when she got back to the café Combeferre was pinching the bridge of his nose, Jehan was red cheeked setting up an information table, Courfeyrac was nowhere to been seen and Grantaire watched with a bemused, slightly alarmed expression as Enjolras stalked around the room, arguing with someone on his phone.

The time between the concert and open mic had flown by and she had seen at least one of the three every day. They had weirdly become ingrained in their lives and it wasn’t even entirely her fault. It was the open mic that had them all texting and planning and meeting up for coffee. Courfeyrac had dragged Jehan out for drinks one night and Jehan had come back to the apartment and immediately fell asleep on the couch. Grantaire had found him in the morning and snapchatted it to all his friends. To Jehan's horror, it had become something of a meme.  


She quickly weighed her options between all of them and then went over to Jehan. He sighed when she slipped behind the table next to him and put his head on her shoulder. 

“You alright?” She asked, putting her arms around him, despite the awkward angle. He wasn’t quite as tall as Combeferre, but Jehan was still a good foot taller than her. 

“Migraine.”

“Do you wanna leave? It's alright you know.”

“It's not that bad.” He assured her, pulling away, but his eyes and the way he smelt like mouthwash told her a different story. He realized she didn't believe him so he shook his head, “I'm not leaving.”

“As long as you feel okay I can say we have to leave because of me.” 

“Please don’t. You’re a horrible liar.” Jehan deadpanned right before Courfeyrac burst through the doors of the cafe. 

“You two. Come here and help me string these lights up.” she shouted on her way to the stage. 

“I’ll buy you dinner if you let me sit on your shoulders.” Joly said immediately, causing Jehan to laugh. 

“I actually think that might be the only way you two hobbits are going to be able to reach.” 

“Excuse me.” Courfeyrac called shrilly, evidently hearing them. Before Joly and Jehan made it over to her, Combeferre was at Coufeyrac’s side, wresting a chair out of her hands and arguing that he was taller and wouldn’t have to stand on a crate on top of the chair to reach. After a moment, Courfeyrac relinquished the lights to Jehan and Combeferre and pulled Joly back over to the information table. “I printed new flyers but can’t find them. They should be in the merch box and therefore shouldn’t be that hard to find--there’s only Anjelica’s CDs and a handful of books--but I can’t find them.”

“Jehan has the table set up already.” Joly waved her hand to indicate the table set up with Anjelica’s CD and poetry collections from three other members of l’ABC. Joly was honestly fucking impressed that they had not one but three self-published poets in their group. Hopefully Jehan would be able to meet them and they could convince him to publish something. His poetry was good but he didn’t believe it. 

“And the box is empty.” Courfeyrac frowned, staring into the empty cardboard box like she couldn’t imagine the concept of an empty box. “I don’t--wait. Grantaire called them ugly. Do you think he hid them? Grantaire!” 

Grantaire flinched and turned to her, “Uh--what?”

“Did you steal my pamphlets?”

“They’re at the counter.” Enjolras called sharply and then with the same breath continued his phone call.

Courfeyrac pointed at Grantaire to let him know she was watching him before going to retrieve the pamphlets. 

The next couple hours flew by in a flurry of motion. By the time they were done setting up, people were starting to arrive and then the event started. Enjolras and Combeferre vanished to a table in the back of the room and Courfeyrac sat herself near the bar where she and several other people ordered food. Joly, Grantaire and Jehan grabbed a table in the middle of the room where they were quickly joined by some of the others. She should probably feel bad that she didn’t remember any of their names yet, but there were just so many people coming and going. She wasn’t quite sure who was actually a member of l’ABC and who was just there for the open mic. 

“This is fun.” Joly smiled, reaching across the table to grab Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire gave her hand a squeeze back and then she turned to Jehan, “Are you going to read tonight?”

Even in the dim light she could see his cheeks darken, “Oh—no. Not tonight, I’m afraid. Maybe next time? If there is a next time, that is.”

Grantaire lazily looked around the packed café and then the woman at his left, Arielle--from the concert, Joly remembered suddenly--said, “The turnout is great. Doing this again next month totally has my vote. I know you guys are new but you totally can’t leave now.”  

Joly high-fived Jehan next to her and he laughed, albeit it was a little strained. She bit her lip and turned her focus back onto the stage.  


**Author's Note:**

> The introduction is largely inspired by flipping through The Seven Ages of Paris by Alistair Horne (and here I thought i'd never touch that book again after graduating). 
> 
> Freedom for America! Freedom for France! is a reference to Hamilton. The Merlin jab is in reference to BBC's Merlin. Dæmons come from the His Dark Materials trilogy, they're basically an animal familiar and touching someone's dæmon is totally intimate. 
> 
> It's only mentioned briefly by Combeferre in this chapter but the Amis' local hangout, the Abilene, is named so because Abilene is a sister city to Corinth (as in Corinthe the wine shop where they all die). Listen I'm super proud of this. 
> 
> The name of the cafe they meet in, d’Armont, is named after (Marie-Anne) Charlotte Corday (d'Armont). In the brick, Combeferre compares Enjolras' murder of Le Cabuc to Corday's murder of Marat (although to be fair, I didn't remember this when I picked the name, I just wanted a woman from the French Revolution who straight up murdered someone). But there's a fun fact for you all. 
> 
> (Also this is completely unbeta'd so if anyone out there is willing to correct my grammar and try to rein in my comma usage you can find me on tumblr [personal](http://www.spearmintstardust.tumblr.com) or[writing](http://www.darlingdrinkerofdreams.tumblr.com))


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